dispute
by cedricsowner
Summary: Set shortly after Ilsa became Chance's business partner. Getting to know each other is a long and winding road that takes time ... and sometimes and little blood and pain. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement. **

_~ for niagaraweasel ~_

"Seriously, Ilsa." Chance tried the puppy face look that worked very well on most women.

Apparently Ilsa Pucci was not most women.

He crossed his arms over his chest and gave the pouting approach a go. "Nobody was hurt, everything went fine, we got the bad guys."

"YOU LOCKED ME IN A CELLAR!"

Okay, now she was seriously getting on his nerves. This was exactly the kind of petty narrow-mindedness that had always kept him from getting a regular job. "For two hours. You had water, books and even a box of breath mints. It's not like I kept you incarcerated for 34 years with an iron mask on your face!"

"You disregarded my…" Ilsa stopped herself at the last minute.

Too late.

"Your what? Your _orders_?"

"My explicit wishes", she snapped. "You risked everything for a thug."

"I risked everything for a _friend_."

"Don't even try to guilt-trip me into changing my opinion on this disaster – you risked _my_ money, _my_ reputation and _my_ good relationship with the Italian ambassador. For _your _friend."

_If you had bothered to explain the matter, instead of simply assuming I wouldn't listen anyway, I would have given all of that freely _, she added silently.

"Who is trying to guilt-trip somebody now?" Chance was definitely losing his patience. He reached under the kitchen sink to get some of the bleach they kept there. The van still needed cleaning and he really wasn't in the mood to later having to listen to Winston bitching about…

TWACK

Chance cursed. Explicitly.

"What was that?" At the sudden, metallic snap Ilsa had jumped up from her chair and looked around panicky.

"Nothing, Ilsa. Will you do me a favor and leave the room? Just leave."

Predictably, she did everything but.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

Chance took a deep breath. "I've been frozen to the spot for almost a minute now, after swearing like a trooper. Beads of sweat are appearing on my forehead while my skin is turning white. NO, I'm not _alright_."

"How can I help? Tell me what to do!"

He was grabbing the kitchen sink with his free hand now. Some of the human body's most sensitive nerves are clustered along the insides of the hands. Pain was shooting through him like a white hot flame.

"Just do as I told you. Leave. Me. Alo…" The ding of the elevator interrupted him. No alert from the security system? Had to be Guerrero.

"STOP HIM", Chance hissed at Ilsa.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't let him come near the kitchen! Get rid of him somehow. Announce that you want him to sit down with you for a performance review or some other bureaucratic shit!"

Ilsa hurried into the lobby. A moment later Chance heard her telling Guerrero that she suspected her secretary to be giving away personal information to board members who wanted to remove her from her position as CEO.

The ding of the elevator indicated Guerrero believed her. Chance took a deep breath, bit his lower lip, counted to five and then cautiously, very cautiously, lifted his right hand upwards. Very slowly he withdrew from underneath the sink.

As he moved his hand, the white hot pain multiplied by ten, made his vision whiten out for a second and actually flipped his stomach.

Of course Ilsa chose exactly this moment to reenter the kitchen.

Her hands flew to her mouth to muffle her scream as she saw his mutilated hand.

"I told you to stay out! Will you ever listen to a single word I say?"

Trust her to studiously ignore his reproach. "You need a doctor for that!"

"No, I don't. The bones are still intact. Just hand me the field kit from the top drawer, will you?"

She got the kit, but when he reached for it she moved it out of his range, instead put on rubber gloves herself and started removing the spikes with surprisingly nimble fingers.

"What is this anyway?", she asked after she had successfully removed the first two and Chance had stopped anxiously watching her every move.

"Mousetrap." Chance wondered if he should take a painkiller after all.

"I've never seen one of such intricate design." Ilsa got up, walked over to the cupboard, got a glass out, filled it with water, opened the drawer with the various pills, chose one and handed both to Chance.

He downed it gratefully. "Guerrero felt challenged by the mouse."

Ah, that explained why he hadn't wanted him to come into the kitchen.

The pill kicked in and Chance was finally able to actually enjoy being so close to Ilsa. She always smelled so nice. And the touch of her hands was tender.

"You look surprised", Ilsa remarked.

"Since I incarcerated you and put everything you are and own on the line only a couple of hours ago I figured you'd be a little less Florence Nightingale and a little more Nurse Ratched."

"I'd never leave a friend in need. I just need to be kept informed properly."

Chance sighed and weighed his head in a way that Ilsa decided to accept as a gesture of agreement and point taken. Under his guidance she bandaged the wound. Thank God no nerves seemed to have been damaged.

To her utter surprise, Chance then got up and headed towards the lobby.

"Where are you going?"

"Rescuing your secretary!"

He held the elevator's door open till she had caught up with him.


End file.
